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Metamorphosis: Seven Sins III - Spooky Swamp
Back to Metamorphosis: Seven Sins Chapter 3 – Spooky Swamp ---- Present Day For a long time, the end of the Human-Monster War meant peace. But in places such as the Swamp, peace could simply not be found. It was a dark, damp, foul-smelling, chillingly cold, and absolutely repulsive place to be for a human. The Swamp was, simply put, the most awful of the Frontier’s many biomes – or “sub-regions”, which was the term used by the Hunter’s Guild to describe any former hunting ground that lay within the boundaries of a region. And this sub-region was one that no hunter loved visiting in the days during the war. Even after the war, people still tried to stay away. For, of course, only the most unpleasant of monsters could be found there. The creatures that lurked in the Swamp were monsters that didn’t care about the end of the long, costly, and torturous war. They were monsters that would gladly kill a wandering person for the sheer sport of it. Thus, it was only natural that no human eyes were present to witness the terrible sights to see in the deepest part of the Swamp’s cave networks. Out of the entire disgusting quagmire, the caves were perhaps the most disgusting place of all. Bitterly cold, slimy with mold and dampness, and constantly echoing with the slithering of unknown things deep within their twisting tunnels… no, the Swamp’s caves were no place for any person to be. Currently, it was nighttime, and the moon was high in the sky, piercing easily through the clouds that perpetually darkened the sub-region. Inside the caverns, the only noises were the steady dripping of moisture from the ceiling and the whispering of the distant wind outside of their icy confines. Until, that is, a hideous howl burst through the tunnels. Monsters of all kinds woke up and heard the sound, and all of them tucked themselves deeper and more securely in their dens, terror clutching their hearts with an iron grip. From one particular cave was the howling emanating. The chamber was wide, darker than most, and wreathed in mist. From the ceiling, tree roots extended, reaching out like claws at imaginary prey. On the ground, black mud oozed, a substance that offered almost nothing for the few plants that managed to grow there. The mist coiled around those that fought in the cavern, gripping their bones with icy fingers. But neither monster noticed the cold – one was focused on the defense of its territory, and the other was focused only on the thrill of the hunt. The Iodrome hissed, wagging its head in order to better display its intimidating purple crest. The bird wyvern’s slimy red skin was perfectly adapted for life in the Swamp, its long tail was used for balance, and its curved jaws opened to reveal fangs slick with sticky venom. A trio of smaller Ioprey backed the leader up – they lacked the strength and distinguishing crest of their boss, but made up for it in numbers and bravery. Together, the raptors had sufficient combined strength to defend themselves against a monster as formidable as a Gypceros. But three Ioprey and an Iodrome still weren’t enough to drive away the pale white leviathan that half-stepped and half-slid onto a patch of muddy earth, illuminated by the bright moonlight that streamed through a crevasse in the ceiling. The light washed over its filthy, pale skin, making it shine and shimmer in a repulsive way. Its serpentine tail waved idly behind it, and it reared its long, S-shaped neck in order to stare down at the Iodrome with its burning orange eyes. A monster such as this had never been seen in the Swamp – not even in the Frontier region, or even the entire Great Continent. For reasons unknown, the beast had migrated here from a distant place. In its native land, the people there had given it a special name, a name that was only ever spoken in fearful whispers… Baruragaru. The Baruragaru’s throat vibrated, and a low, guttural gurgle came out from it. The sound would have made even the most fearless living thing shudder. As it got more agitated, its bright red fins stuck straight up. It opened its mouth, showing off its dripping black teeth, and flicked out a muscular, serpent-like tongue. The tongue was crammed with sensors that allowed the leviathan to taste the air around it, and it ended with a razor-sharp point. Together, the Baruragaru’s gurgling, colorful fins, and long tongue combined into a threat display that should have sent any smaller monster running in terror. Foolishly, the Iodrome was unfazed by the Baruragaru’s threats. The monster screeched, and its throat bulged as it forced up a glob of poison. The ball of venom flew out of its maw and struck the Baruragaru right on the side of its neck. With a horrible roar, the Baruragaru reared up onto its hind legs, head and tail writhing with pain. In fact, the pain was so awful that its mind couldn’t focus on anything but. The viscous fluid from the Red Poison-Spitter (which was what it called the Iodrome) stuck to its scales and sizzled loudly as it corroded its skin, causing an agonizing burning sensation upon its scales. While the leviathan had been sprayed with venom from the smaller Poison-Spitters before, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as that of the big one with the purple crest. However, whereas the venom would have ordinarily diffused through the skin of its victim, it simply slid off of the Baruragaru’s hide, washed away by the thick slime the monster naturally produced. Now free of the awful pain, it crashed back down onto all fours. It advanced on the Red Poison-Spitter and its posse, eyes burning an even brighter orange, such was its anger and hate. Only now did the bird wyvern hesitate. Never before had a creature simply shrugged off its deadly poison. And come to think of it, it had never seen this particular sort of monster before. Just what was it, and where had it come from? The Iodrome came out of its thoughts just in time to see the Baruragaru pounce. With a surprisingly powerful leap, it crashed into the bird wyvern pack and sent the little ones scattering. Triumph made its eyes gleam dangerously while its stocky front limb came down and pinned its prey to the damp earth. Panicking, the Iodrome thrashed and squawked as it desperately tried to free itself from the slimy leviathan’s grip. Surely, its frog-like skin should have allowed it to slip away unharmed? Then its thoughts were put to an abrupt end. The Baruragaru’s leg came down again, this time on the smaller monster’s head. With a solid whack, its blunt claws collided with the Iodrome’s fragile skull and instantly killed it. Emitting a gurgling growl of satisfaction, the Baruragaru raised its head up high to scan the area. Just in time, it caught sight of the trio of Poison-Spitters, creeping up from behind. A ghostly howl tore from its throat as it lashed out with its tongue, sending the raptors running with their tails between their legs. “Sssss…” the leviathan hissed, as its long tongue flicked out like a snake’s. Those puny creatures wouldn’t be coming back to bother it. Turning back to its dead prey, it allowed itself a moment of praise. It wasn’t often that it managed to take down a creature as large as this, especially an unfamiliar one, as this one was. So far, it liked its new home in the Swamp – dark, cold, smelling of death and decay, and chock-full of surprisingly tasty treats. It was a much better place than its old home, across the unimaginably vast sea it had previously traversed to reach this spot. “Sssss…” the Baruragaru hissed again, allowing its sensitive tongue to take in the welcome scents of the freezing-cold cavern. Sometimes, it wondered why it had ever left its old home. It had been content there, before it had swum across the Big Water and into this glorious dark paradise. A dim memory surfaced… all-consuming hunger and an uncomfortable brightness being cast upon its sensitive skin. Maybe there wasn’t enough food left in its old territory, or maybe a change in the climate had scared it away. As a denizen of the dark, the Baruragaru hated the sun. But, ultimately, the reason why it had journeyed across the Big Water in the first place was a mystery. It quickly stopped thinking these confusing thoughts when it flicked out its tongue again, gathering the delicious scent of its recently-caught meal. The Baruragaru gurgled and reared its head up high, opening its mouth wide. Then with a huge lurch, its tongue shot out and plunged through the Red Poison-Spitter’s skin, deep inside its body where the flesh was still steaming. The Baruragaru’s eyes rolled back in its head as it felt warm body fluids pumping up through its tongue and down its throat. While solid meat was good in its own way, liquid foods such as blood and marrow were much better. It drank everything that was there to be drank, even the Red Poison-Spitter’s deadly venom. But the Baruragaru’s unique metabolism, instead of reacting violently to the poison, began to store and duplicate the toxic material in a series of special storage sacs. The more the sacs filled up, the wider they became, until the scar-like markings down the Baruragaru’s neck and tail split apart to reveal a transparent, permeable membrane. Bright purple in color, the membrane let small wisps of poisonous gas escape into the cold air around it. “Sssss…” the Baruragaru hissed. The hiss came out rather slurred as the fluids finished making their way into its stomach. Now, it growled. It had been a disappointingly quick meal, one that left it unsatisfied. It would need to hunt several more monsters of similar size in order to satiate its hunger. With a wet slithering sound, the Baruragaru crept slowly but steadily away from its meal, leaving the dry remnants for scavengers. When a leviathan of its size walked, it was more like a crawl. The Baruragaru’s limbs were small, but strong, allowing it to easily slide forward on its belly. This method of locomotion was what allowed the monster to sneak up so easily on its prey. They never seemed to see it coming. Right before it was about to leave, it heard something. The fluttering of wings reached its ears, and it immediately swung its head around and glared at the cavernous chamber behind it. Its burning orange eyes scanned every inch, but the only movement was that of the mist floating along the ground. As far as it could tell, it was alone. Snorting a puff of hot air out of its nostrils, the Baruragaru turned back around and left the cave entirely. It didn’t take long for the Baruragaru to reach its den – a small and comfortingly cramped cavern, the entrance of which was hidden under a small shelf of rock. There wasn’t much space, barely enough for the den’s owner to crawl in and curl up in sleep. The ceiling was high, though, so the Baruragaru didn’t feel too closed in. The floor was bare, with no nesting materials or bones of past victims scattered around. No other creature had been able to find the Baruragaru’s den so far. It felt fortunate, but it didn’t know why. Either the slimy monster was that good at finding a safe place to sleep, or the native monsters were just too frightened to come near. A sudden blur of movement caught the Baruragaru’s eye, and it twisted its head upward to look up at the den’s dark ceiling. What it saw was puzzling – there was a strange wyvern perched on one of the tree roots that dangled overhead. It was small, about the size of the Poison-Spitters it had sent running earlier, and it had snow-white scales that stood out against the near-black ceiling. It had wings, talons, and a hooked beak, making it look more like an overgrown hawk than anything else. Hadn’t it just been thinking that the natives were too scared of it to enter its lair? It let out a snort of annoyance. The Hawk-Thing noticed the Baruragaru staring at it and suddenly let go of the root, swooping low over the much larger creature’s head. Further annoyed by the rush of wind that accompanied the creature’s passing, the Baruragaru snapped its fangs and missed its tail by a hair. The wyvern screeched mockingly at the Baruragaru and began circling above the ceiling, as if waiting to see what its foe would do next. All the Baruragaru did was stare at the idiotic Hawk-Thing. If looks could kill, then the sizzling glare in its eyes would have shot the wyvern out of the air. Around and around the Hawk-Thing flew in tight circles near the ceiling, seemingly content with doing so. The Baruragaru rapidly got bored with watching it soar aimlessly, and decided to go back to hunting. There was no way it would be able to sleep now. It gave a derisive snort and flicked its tail dismissively at the Hawk-Thing. The Baruragaru expertly scraped away the mud beneath its feet, rapidly digging a hole with its shovel-like claws. Within seconds, all trace of the creature disappeared, except the pit it had dug into the soft earth. And even then, the mud began to ooze slowly down, rapidly filling up the hole again. The Ice Halk watched the hole slowly fill itself back up, her head tilted curiously. She had followed the leviathan all the way here from the site of its battle with the Iodrome. She had never seen a monster quite like that before, even though her old master had taken her on many a hunt before the war ended. And even after the war, after she had been given to a new master, the two of them had taken to journeying back to former hunting grounds and exploring. But never, in all her years of travel, had she spotted anything remotely similar to that repulsive slithering thing. And in the Swamp, no less. A soft screech emitted from the Halk’s beak, and she wheeled off. Her new master would want to hear about this. Out of the claustrophobic cave she flew, through a small hole in the wall and back into the damp tunnels in search of her master. All was quiet when she left, and the only sound that was made was the steady dripping of moisture from the tree roots overhead. But suddenly, the mud began to shift with a soft, almost ominous sliding sound. A head poked out from underneath the thick substance, and two fins pricked up alertly as its eyes followed the wyvern out of the den. It felt its stomach rumble as it remembered its disappointing snack from before, and decided that one more snack for the evening was better than nothing. Grinning a predator’s grin, the Baruragaru changed its mind about the Hawk-Thing. It dove back under the mud, and stealthily gave chase. ---- The mud squished under the monster researcher’s feet as he proceeded deeper into the caverns. Water dripped from the ceiling and slipped off of his leathery armor, made from the hide of a Great Jaggi, but he paid no attention. It was his duty to observe and study the local monster population, so that other people could learn more about the creatures that filled their world. But his current research mission was annoying, frustrating, and tiring. Phisto Docks had never liked the Swamp – not since he had first come to the Frontier for a job after being banished from Loc Lac City. Today, though, just didn’t seem to be his day. He had already been attacked by an Iodrome and its pack, and had barely managed to fend the bird wyverns off with his Great Sword. And now, the deeper he went into the cave network, the soft mud began to cling to his feet, making his walk an increasingly difficult chore. And he didn’t even want to think about how the roots extending from the ceiling looked more and more like fearsome claws reaching out to snag him… Shuddering slightly, the teenager rounded a bend and came across the largest cavern he had seen yet. Mist slowly floated across the floor, and his breath came out in chilly clouds. Phisto swiftly dug into his pouch and took a swig of Hot Drink, feeling its warmth spreading from his stomach and throughout the rest of his body. Despite the chill that seemed to pervade the entire Swamp, he was sweating in his lightweight suit of armor. The Human-Monster War was over, but that didn’t stop Phisto from traveling to the various sub-regions that monster hunters used to frequent back in the old days. He himself had been a hunter – not a master, but not a rookie either – hailing from the Moga region’s Loc Lac City. It had been a good life for the most part. Unfortunately, an incident involving him, his friend Catry, and an angry Volvidon, he had been banished without further punishment and relieved from his hunting duties. Left without a job, Phisto and his friend traveled for an entire year, heading from Moga to the Central World, where the monster war no longer raged. By the time he had crossed the Central World and made it to the Frontier, he had learned that the war was over. Thank goodness. For indeed, the last leg of his journey to the Frontier, he and Catry had been attacked by a savage monster, and it had left them both with serious injuries. Hearing that the Human-Monster War was supposed to be over was the first good news Phisto had heard in a very long time. Once his wounds healed, he had applied for a job as a researcher, and had been accepted into the Guild alongside Catry. The Docks boy hadn’t focused on killing monsters in a very long time. Thus, early into his travels, he found that he could really appreciate the natural beauty of the wildly different landscapes that Moga and the Central World had to offer. Now, he could also explore the Frontier, which was originally notorious for the hordes of ridiculously fierce monsters that roamed its sub-regions. The Jungle, Desert, Volcano… none of them had anything in common, but they were all amazing in their own ways. And the monsters… who would have thought the former hunter could grow to love the creatures he used to kill for a living? Phisto, who used to swat Bnahabras without a second glance, now marveled at how the sleek Velocipreys ran through the forests, how the mighty Rathaloses soared through the skies they ruled, and even how the Aptonoths plodded around in their simple, dumb way. With the war having been over for five years now, there was no longer a need for hunters. For a short time, the various sub-regions had seen an utter lack of human activity, apart from the occasional explorer. And then suddenly, a huge demand for monster researchers came out of nowhere and spread across the known world. Men and women and even some teenagers, such as Phisto himself, were going out to study and learn about the monsters that had previously been seen only as pests. This new ‘Age of Knowledge’ was glorious, and the human civilization was more prosperous than it had ever been. Phisto was a monster researcher now, and he loved his new job. But right now… “Where could Athena be?” the eighteen-year-old muttered to himself, tapping his foot and ignoring the squelching sound it made in the mud. “I sent her off a while ago… I hope she hasn’t run into trouble.” He perished the thought. The Ice Halk couldn’t be in trouble – not once since he had adopted her had she encountered life-threatening danger. She had been in perfect condition when they met, not even carrying a scar from all her years of accompanying her old master on hunts. Athena was loyal and dependable, a true friend in the form of a different species. Just as Phisto wondered for the umpteenth time where she could be, her screech echoed back down the tunnel he had come through. He turned and saw her snow-white wings flapping majestically as she soared toward him. He smiled as the smallest of wyverns landed on the ground in front of him – although at a human scale, she was anything but small. At seven feet long, her hawk-like head was held directly at his level, allowing them to literally see eye-to-eye. She was every bit as amazing right now as when her wings were spread in flight. “I was beginning to worry about you,” he said. Athena jerked her head, as if to say, “''Seriously, YOU were beginning to worry about ME?” The former hunter opened his mouth to respond, but Athena stalked past him before he could, walking farther into the huge cavern. She picked her way across the ground like a huge stork, her head poking forward with every cautious step. Phisto couldn’t do anything but follow her. She stopped in front of something that Phisto couldn’t make out at first. It was dark and lumpy-looking, but unidentifiable. There was too much mist swirling around on the ground. He bent down and cleared the obscuring fog away – then leapt back and gasped loudly. The sound echoed through the cavern, making him jump again in fright. But nothing could have scared him more than what he had just seen. He was staring into the blank eye and open maw of a dead Iodrome. Ordinarily, there was no real need for Phisto to be frightened – the world was a harsh place, and a dead monster was just something else’s lunch. No big deal, as long as whatever had eaten it wasn’t still lurking around. But something was chilling him, and it definitely wasn’t the temperature of the cavern. Kneeling down to more closely examine the deceased bird wyvern, Phisto scrutinized it with narrowed eyes. Its hide was still slimy, but that didn’t really mean anything in the Swamp. It was so moist in this sub-region, that Iodrome could have been killed a week ago and not yet dry out. But there were other signs that indicated that this monster had been dead for a while – its only wound didn’t leak any blood, for instance, and there was a foul smell around it. “This guy’s hardly been touched,” mused Phisto. “There’s only one wound, and it’s pretty deep. And why haven’t any scavengers come around yet? I would have assumed that something this old would have been eaten completely by now.” He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Athena. She pointed toward a marking she had made in the mud with her talon – the marking was in the shape of a 5. Phisto stared hard at the number. “Five… days?” he guessed. “That’s how long this Iodrome has been dead? Five hours, maybe?” Athena shook her head and, hesitantly, clawed a human word in the dirt. She didn’t know very many, but she had learned a few just in case she was ever separated from her master. When she was finished, Phisto’s eyes widened. “Five minutes?” he gasped. “That’s impossible! This thing isn’t leaking any blood! What are you suggesting happened to it – something went and drained the blood from its body?” The answer he got was another tap on his shoulder. But Athena was right in front of him, so it couldn’t have been her. ''So, who is it…? Phisto thought with an increasing feeling of dread. Or… WHAT is it? He whipped around, just in time to see the horrid leviathan’s tongue slither out to tap him again. ---- The Baruragaru was sorely disappointed. It had followed the Hawk-Thing from underground, back to the cave where it had killed the Red Poison-Spitter. Upon emerging from out of the mud, it saw that the Hawk-Thing had landed, and now that it was getting a good look at the white wyvern, it was smaller than it had thought. However, the Hawk-Thing was now accompanied by a familiar two-legged creature. Of course, it knew what the Two-Legs was. There had been a few of them around its old home, strange little creatures that waved annoying pointy things at it whenever it met them. It had always assumed they were some kind of bird, from the way they flocked together and built their nests from sticks and dirt. But this Two-Legs wasn’t very bird-like, now that it was looking at it close-up. Also, it seemed to be wrapped in folds of leathery skin, not feathers. Intrigued by the oddness of the Two-Legs, the Baruragaru had poked it with its tongue to investigate. But the scrawny creature had noticed, and they were now staring at each other face-to-face. The expression on the Two-Legs’ face was unfamiliar to the Baruragaru – after all, most monsters could only twist their faces into snarls or scowls, the better to intimidate other monsters. Thus, the look that the Two-Legs was giving it was a puzzling one. “Sssss…” the Baruragaru hissed, flicking its tongue out to taste the air. Then, all became clear. One taste was all it took – now it understood what the Two-Legs was grimacing about. The puny creature was afraid. A chilling, predatory grin split the Baruragaru’s muzzle in two. Fear meant weakness – and those who were weak were prey. It stalked forward, prepared to make as much of a meal as it could out of the tiny, armored Two-Legs and its wyvern companion. ---- Phisto stood perfectly still, shocked and frightened beyond belief as he stared into the burning orange eyes of the serpentine monster. His instincts were urging him to run away as fast as he could – it was as if the unknown monster was cloaked in an invisible aura of fear, stirring up panic in him every time it moved. However, there was something that was telling him to do the opposite. His experience as a monster researcher told him that the creature in front of him was a monster that he had never seen before, and that the things he could learn from studying it would be valuable indeed. So, the Docks boy banished his instincts, squashed down his fear, and gazed up at the repulsive beast. The monster was at least seventy feet long from the tip of its grotesque snout to the end of its tail, which waved slowly in the air behind it in a rippling motion. Its basic body shape consisted of a very long neck and tail, with a small head and four short limbs that sprawled out to the sides, nothing like Phisto had ever seen in the Frontier. Occasionally, a long, snake-like tongue would slither out from between the creature’s jaws, which were arranged in a way to make it look like it was constantly grinning. Along its neck and tail, there were long purple stripes that were drenched in slime, and the edges of its mouth were stained with blood. From the monster’s appearance alone, Phisto could glean several valuable facts. One, he could infer that it was a carnivore from the shape and arrangement of its exposed teeth. Two, its pale, slimy skin made it clear that it was built for living in dark, damp places. And three, its general body shape was reminiscent of a leviathan, a monster family that was extremely rare in the Frontier, but were abundant in the distant Moga region, from where he was native. “Sssss…” hissed the monster, flicking its tongue out again as if tasting the air. Let’s see, Phisto thought. It’s a new type of leviathan, it’s a carnivore, and it lives in damp places. I can see from its small legs that it’s probably slow on land, so it most likely stalks its prey before ambushing them – which is supported by the fact it managed to sneak up on me without a sound. He should have been more excited about discovering a new species of monster, but Phisto felt more afraid than eager. One thing’s for certain, he mused. When I officially describe this thing, I’m putting it in the Fear Class. No doubt about that. I think it’s ugly enough to give even a Bullfango nightmares. He reached for his Great Sword, a huge, curved blade made from the shell and claw of a Terra Shogun Ceanataur. Of course, he hadn’t killed such a deadly creature himself – no, he had taken it from the body of a dead hunter on his wanderings. His name for the ultra-sharp weapon was the Carmine Blade, and it had proven time and again to be extremely effective at cleaving through even the hardest of monster carapaces. Not only that, but his armor was made from the flexible leathery hide of a Great Jaggi – and it was old and battle-tested. He had made it himself back in his days as a hunter. But where the Jaggi skin he wore had proven thick enough to deflect a Volvidon’s claws, would it be enough to defend him now, if this creature decided to attack? “Sssss…” the monster hissed again. It was accompanied by a low gurgle that sent shivers up Phisto’s spine. The researcher kept his hand on the hilt of his blade and assumed a ready stance. “Stay back,” he declared loudly. “I’m a hunter with a weapon, and I will use it if necessary.” The Baruragaru snorted softly and shook its head, as if it had just sneezed. It didn’t understand the squeaky noises that the Two-Legs was making, but it certainly understood the tone. It was loud and brash – definitely not the voice of a weak or frightened foe. The Two-Legs might be tougher to take down than it thought, and it was so small that it began to question whether it was worth the effort. But on the other limb, the leviathan hadn’t found anything else to eat all day. This scrawny little creature, as well as its wyvern companion, might be all that it would get until tomorrow. So, it made the only logical decision open to it. With a howl, it lunged forward at its future meal. Phisto shouted and jumped out of the way, hitting the soft ground with a loud splat. The monster landed just behind him, causing a small tremor as its bulk crashed into the mud. Immediately, Phisto whirled around and got to his feet in time to see it twist its long neck around to face him. Its terrifying orange eyes bore into him as it advanced once more. There was a hideous lurching sound, and the monster’s tongue shot forward to impale him. Phisto quickly rolled out of the way, and the appendage buried itself in the mud behind him. The monster roared with disgust and pulled its tongue free. In that moment, Phisto quickly sprinted up to the monster’s side and pulled on his Carmine Blade’s hilt with all his strength. The big, heavy sword slipped from the restraints on his back and fell downward, the super-sharp edge aimed straight at the creature’s foot. But, with shocking speed, the monster leapt backwards, and the Great Sword crashed into the ground. That was bad – Great Swords were designed purely for power, and to compensate for that, the mobility of the user was badly restricted. If the blade connected with monster hide, it was almost always over in an instant, but if it missed, then it always took far too long to pick it up again. Phisto struggled to lift the Carmine Blade from the mud as the monster stalked toward him once again. When it was within striking distance, it lunged again, its snake-like neck stretching out and its horrible jaws reaching for him. The researcher could only watch, certain that it was all over. There was a white blur and a screech, and suddenly, the monster was retreating backward and howling at the top of its lungs. It ducked its head down and tried to scrape at its face with a stubby foreleg, and for a brief instant, Phisto could see a small, bleeding cut slashing across its face and into its gums. Athena, he realized with a grateful smile. The Ice Halk shrieked and dove down again for another go, willing to defend her master to the death if she had to. And it almost was the death of her, too – the monster’s tongue shot into the air and narrowly missed her, skewering a Vespoid fluttering around near the ceiling. Letting a gurgling growl curl out from its throat, the Baruragaru retracted its tongue with a clearly audible slurp and gulped down the sour-tasting neopteron. This Two-Legs was really testing its patience. The beast made that repulsive lurching sound in its throat again as Phisto managed to sheath his Carmine Blade. Instead of launching its tongue, though, it did something completely unexpected – a noticeable ripple passed along the purple stripes on its neck, and all of a sudden, a blast of purple-black venom was ejected from its maw. Phisto quickly leapt out of the way, dodging the poisonous projectile that hissed loudly when it hit the mud just beneath his toes. “It can spit poison too,” the researcher muttered bitterly. “I should have known.” Athena screeched and folded her wings, diving down upon the monster’s ugly snout and slashing it again with her beak. It howled and whipped its neck from side to side, trying to shake her off. The Halk held fast with her talons, but her grip almost immediately began to slip on its moist skin. Rearing its neck back, the monster snapped its head to the side one last time, and Athena was successfully flung away. A slurred hiss emitted from its mouth as it chased her, shockingly fast on those short legs. “Athena!” Phisto yelled her name as he sprinted after the beast, reaching for the hilt of his Great Sword. Finding it, he pulled it from its strap and heaved it with every ounce of his strength. The blade sliced down through the air and carved a deep wound in the monster’s back leg. While its howls had been horrifying to hear before, they could not compare to the searing scream of pain that blasted its way out from between its jaws. Instinctively, Phisto winced and tried to cover his ears, before remembering that his leather helm prevented his hands from reaching them. Black-red blood splattered through the air and stained his burgundy armor with dark streaks. The monster’s scream petered out to a low moan as its injured leg slipped on the mud, and it toppled to the ground with a noise between a crash and a splat. In agony, it writhed on the ground, throwing droplets of mud and its own blood into the air all over the place. Quickly exhausting itself, the monster stopped thrashing and lay still on the ground, the only movements being from its twitching tail and its jaws, which moved ever so slightly as it moaned. Its breath came out in harsh gasps. But contrasting with the beast’s clearly painful condition were its eyes – they glared daggers at Phisto, spearing him with their burning orange light. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the depths of the leviathan’s hatred. “Yikes,” whispered Phisto. “This must be what the Hero saw when he looked into his nemesis’ eyes for the first time.” He retrieved his Carmine Blade from the ground, and heaved it over his shoulder with difficulty. Slipping it back into its pseudo-sheath with a bit of effort, Phisto spared the injured leviathan one last glance. It was still lying there, just watching him. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It was only self-defense.” With that, he strode out of the cave, Athena soaring along behind him. The Baruragaru’s glare intensified as the damned Two-Legs left, as if it was hoping to kill him with its gaze alone. The pain its leg had gone down slightly, from a wild fire to the low, constant burning of hot coals. Even now, the injured limb twitched and jerked spasmodically as if fighting the loss of blood that leaked profusely down onto the ground in a slow, red river. If it survived this unfortunate encounter, there was one lesson it had learned and could use in the future. The Baruragaru mulled this over in its pain-inflamed mind, with shocking logic and precision for such a brutal-looking monster. Never mess with those annoying armored fleas again. They probably don’t taste good, anyway. Then the last of its strength petered out, its eyes rolled back in its head, and unconsciousness claimed it. ---- To be Continued... Metamorphosis: Seven Sins IV - Many Mysteries Category:Fan Fiction Category:Cottonmouth255